


Possession

by Winoniel



Category: The Administration - Manna Francis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winoniel/pseuds/Winoniel
Summary: Toreth knows that Warrick belongs to him.  Sometimes, though, he has to remind himself.





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hpstrangelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpstrangelove/gifts).



> Huge thanks to the Mods for all of their incredible hard work into making this fest happen year after year. Hpstrangelove, I hope that this scratches your itch!

Possession

Following the businesslike admin down the plush carpeting leading to Secretary Turnbull’s office, Toreth marveled at how accustomed he’d become to these halls. He’d only aided the Principal Secretary of the Bureau of Administrative Departments a few times, but they had been so vital to Bureau security that his efforts—and more importantly, his discretion—had warranted much more appreciation than would have otherwise resulted from the end of an I & I investigation. The fact that it really got up Tillotson’s nose was only icing the cake.

“Para-investigator Toreth, thank you for coming to see me so promptly!” Secretary Turnbull had been gazing out the window, her petite form almost hidden by the heavy draperies. She strode quickly over to the door and shook Toreth’s hand in a strong grip. Motioning him over to the low, comfortable couches near the incredibly expensive and pretty impractical fireplace rather than her desk, she dismissed the admin.

“Coffee?” She asked, and at Toreth’s bemused shake, she sat on the opposite couch, clearly ignoring his narrowing eyes.

Toreth recognized someone setting an inferior at ease, and he had to admit, it made him cautious. What could possibly be so imperative that she was taking such pains to keep him from immediately saying no to the task? 

Turnbull quickly detailed the reason for her meeting request. “An important figure with significant, strong connections to the inner workings of the Bureau has gone missing. Justice has been called in, but in my opinion, they are unable to work as effectively as your team.” 

Toreth just sat, listening intently. He knew that she would eventually come to why it was necessary for I & I to handle this rather than Political Crimes.

“As an independent consultant, she has been privy to not only to a great deal of information, but she has also coordinated a number of projects in which she is the _only_ connection between myriad moving parts. While she is a dear friend, and for selfish reasons I want her found, it is also imperative that she be recovered as quickly as possible because her brain is the only repository for a number of Administration plans that are currently in or just beyond the development stages.”

“And these plans are not documented anywhere else?” Toreth asked, with a sinking feeling. He really hoped that he was wrong about who had been abducted.

“No,” Turnbull looked Toreth squarely in the eye. “Due to the sensitive nature of many of these ventures—one of which you dealt with just a couple of months ago—Independent Coordinator Du Pre has kept all of the details close, not trusting them to any sort of discoverable records. Without her, the Bureau can maintain all of the procedures already in place, but the new, experimental projects—particularly those for which the Administration has no processes in place—will be lost.

“I will be blunt, Toreth. There are many areas of coordinated efforts which the Bureau has not seen fit to make transparent to all of the divisions of the Administration. So a number of us have volunteered to be repositories of information, go-betweens, and supervisors of these efforts. Camille du Pres is one those ‘volunteers,’ and as such, is a significant asset without whom a number of our future plans will have to be jettisoned.”

“So why me?” Toreth asked, echoing her bluntness.

“Because I know that you will handle the task with the utmost judgment and discrimination. You will not go off at half cock, but instead will take into consideration the political ramifications of your actions. You head a team that is equally discreet and diplomatic. I can think of no one as equipped to handle an investigation requiring the highest confidentiality and tenacity.

“And while, as with other investigations you have handled for us, I cannot promise the type of outward recognition that your efforts should receive, perhaps I can assure a little more inter-departmental harmony?”

“What do you mean?” Toreth asked, warily.

“Perhaps letting your section head know that your efforts will result in the most consideration for General Criminal when budget and other decisions are made?”

Toreth smiled. Now that was good, solid capital that he could hold over Tillotson. For a very long time.

*** 

Toreth, Alex-Ann Jameson, and Ainsley Barret-Connor looked around the flat. It had been a smooth flight in to Strasbourg, and the car had brought them to an elegant, new building in the enhanced security zone. During the flight they had gone over the Justice IIP, which was distressingly brief. There were no signs of forcible entry or struggle, no entries or exits from the building by unauthorized personnel, and de Pre had no registered partner to give more information about her habits or customary routines. 

Immediately upon arrival, Toreth was setting Jameson to investigating the security of the building when his comm alerted him to an incoming call. “Yes, Sara?”

“I’ve got the results of the analysis of du Pre’s comm calls. A number were to Bureau division employees, but one was to—” she paused, then continued, softly, “Jean-Baptiste Carnac.”

*** 

Toreth, Barret-Connor, Carnac, and no less than seven Bureau security guards attended the meeting in one of the semi-private Bureau conference rooms. Toreth smirked, seeing the circumstances necessary for the socioanalyst to be comfortable meeting with him.

“Ah, Toreth, I can sincerely say that I had not thought that we’d ever have the opportunity to conduct a civil conversation again,” Carnac said smoothly and smiled, though Toreth noted that the man had not allowed more than a meter to come between himself and the door _or_ any of the security men.

Just to psych him out, Toreth smiled widely, and moved swiftly over to the other man, extending a hand and ignoring the instinctive flinch. “Socioanalyst Carnac, it has been awhile, hasn’t it? I’m here to investigate the possible abduction of your mentor, Camille de Pre, and I trust that you might be able to shed some light on the situation?”

Carnac moved back slightly, his smile dimming. “Indeed, while I hadn’t had the chance to talk with Camille in the past day or so, she had previously mentioned some irregularities with a project she was coordinating, but she gave no details, and I knew better than to ask.”

Toreth began pacing, actually taking delight in the way Carnac’s eyes followed him surreptitiously, though his face remained neutral. “Did she say where this project was organized?”

Carnac paused and seemed to think for a moment before answering, “Actually, no, or rather yes. She didn’t say where, but from the lack of travel plans or any sense that she would be away, I got the impression that it was rather close to home. Strasbourg, even.”

Toreth exchanged glances with Barret-Connor before continuing to interview Carnac. Perhaps because of the seriousness of the situation, his fear of Toreth, or the supposed conditions of his reattachment to Socioanalysis, their conversation was informative, though the undercurrent of fear and loathing that Toreth assumed Carnac couldn’t totally repress was readily apparent, at least to Toreth.

***   
Solving the case was almost laughably easy. Once Jameson discovered another missing person case in the building, it was only a matter of identifying the body of a Heinrich Dettermann, and finding the incredibly inexperienced corporate sab who had impersonated the building resident to gain entrance. Using traffic cameras, ‘Heinrich’ and his slightly tipsy girlfriend were seen entering a taxi, then seen changing to several other cabs over the course of an hour, with the team finally tracking them to the building on the outskirts of the city.

The impressively extensive pharmaceutical barrage collected there seemed poised to rid du Pre of all of her secrets—as well as what would be left of her mind—if the ‘thankfully fucking idiot’ as Toreth had christened him, hadn’t been ordered to wait for his employer to arrive before beginning the interrogation. Du Pre had been found, moved to hospital, and the sab sent to the local Strasbourg Justice center before night had fallen completely.

Hearing Tillotson’s grudging “Well done,” over his comm was worth a month of New Year celebrations. And Toreth was on his way home, with another favor owed him by a grateful Bureau Secretary. 

*** 

Entering the flat, Toreth froze as he heard a distinctive voice. Apparently, Warrick had put his comm on speaker. He often did that while cooking has he felt the earpiece interfered with his ability to judge how his culinary masterpieces were cooking. But why was Carnac talking with Warrick?

Carnac’s honeyed tones swirled around the kitchen. “… and while everyone seemed quite pleased with our ability to ‘bury the hatchet,’ as the Americans say, and not in each others’ skulls, I did manage to convince them that the efficiency of our coordination under these circumstances mostly will not be repeatable on other occas—” 

“Too fucking right,” Toreth said, entering the room.

There was silence from the comm. Warrick didn’t jump, though his whisk paused almost imperceptibly in its motion. “Ah, Toreth, apparently your comm was turned off. Carnac has called to report that your subject has recovered completely and would like to reward you in some way for you rescuing her. She will be in touch soon.”

“That’s good,” Toreth said, his own voice growing softer, serious. “Is there anything else, Carnac?”

“Ah,” Carnac’s voice remained polite. “No, Toreth, the entertaining novelty of our recommencing out ‘working relationship,’ I’m sure, has waned for both of us. As I’m relatively sure that there will be no more abductions of mutual acquaintances, and per my previous commitment to ensure that our paths will not cross, I daresay there will be no necessity for further contact.”

“That’s good,” Toreth said again, even softer. “Good bye, Carnac.” He brought his hand slowly across his neck, and Warrick quickly closed the connection.

“I didn’t know that you were working with Carnac,” Warrick said, one brow raised. “And, well—you both survived.”

“I didn’t know he’d be involved until we arrived, but work is work, and he was rather less annoying, and much less murderous, than usual.” Even though Toreth would always hear Carnac’s parting jabs after the revolt, months of cohabitation with Warrick had quieted them. Still…

“Well, it’s nice to see that you can play nicely, when you want,” Warrick said.

Still…. 

“Come over here,” Toreth said, feeling a small smile unfolding slowly on his lips.

“Hmmm,” Warrick murmured, drawing back slightly. 

Did Toreth detect a spark of challenge in his eyes? Quick as the panther to which he’d once been likened, Toreth sprang across the room and had Warrick pressed against the wall before he could make another move. 

The tussle, which involved quite a bit of writhing and bucking, made Toreth’s trousers seem rather tight as his cock stiffened. He ground it experimentally into the tight backside before him, and then stretched out Warrick’s arms out to the sides, holding the wrists tightly. Warrick’s exertions were punctuated by gasps and moans, especially when his face was pressed tightly against the wall. 

Toreth moved his head, his lips whispering millimeters from the hairs on the back of Warrick’s neck. “You just don’t learn, do you? You think that somehow, maybe this once, you might be able to break free?”

Warrick was shaking, pale, and, Toreth could tell, aroused. He almost laughed. They knew each other so well, it didn’t take long. This was one of the advantages of a ‘regular fuck.’

Toreth reached to the nearby counter for the cooking oil. He was sure he had lube in his jacket pocket, but this was better, more spontaneous, rougher. Within seconds he was plunging inside Warrick. He tried to take it slowly, but it had been awhile, Warrick was writhing, Carnac’s voice was echoing in his head, and Toreth needed to feel, hear, and know that Warrick was his, that Warrick wanted Toreth, Warrick wanted _this_. 

Still… Toreth faltered, almost losing his rhythm. He gazed at the sight before him.

Warrick was trying to brace himself but his pinioned wrists kept him from holding himself away from the wall. Instead, he arched his back, shoving his backside out further, the image of a rutting animal lusting to be taken, ramming himself back on Toreth’s cock, gasps growing into sobs and growls. Toreth grinned as much as he could with the need and lust gripping his spine, released Warrick’s wrists, and with one hand grasping Warrick’s shoulder and the other buried in his hair, held him tightly against the wall while Toreth slammed into him over and over. 

Warrick’s curdling scream was matched, for once, by Toreth’s bellow, “Warrick!”

Warrick was his. He was Warrick’s. They possessed each other.

Carnac’s voice was quieted. Still…


End file.
